


A Home across the Sea

by Andúniel (Anduniela)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Art & Architecture of Nargothrond - Freeform, Gen, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduniela/pseuds/And%C3%BAniel
Summary: Edrahil seeks home. Set early into the leaguer.





	A Home across the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> A little something extra for all the people who wanted a story about Nargothrond, inspired by RaisingCaiin’s prompt.
> 
> With thanks to Ariana for encouragement.

Nargothrond was a marvel to behold, everybody agreed on that.

Nargothrond was a beloved thought-child of the King, Edrahil learned that from the first time Finrod started speaking enthusiastically about discovering, just as he had been told, a habitable and well-hidden cave system overlooking the rapids of Narog. (That the caves were not only habitable but inhabited came up only later and frankly, no one cared: the King’s uncle said they should not concern themselves over the tad-dail and so they did not. If the thoughts of evicting other mirroanwi from their home ever came back to haunt the King, Edrahil wasn’t privy to such thoughts).

But Nargothrond was an underground city of caves and no matter how many of its features were made in a style reminiscent of Tirion, it was not, and could not be Tirion, for that fair city was situated upon the hill of Túna, its every stone shining brightly in the light of the Trees, water in every fountain sparkling in the glorious radiance. Of course, the Trees were no more, and Edrahil could only imagine what the city looked like in the paler light of the Moon and the colder shine of the Sun.

Still, no matter the Dwarvish craft, no matter the King’s own arts that, combined, turned the rough abode of the Petty Dwarves into the splendor of an Elven capital, no matter the clever slits and openings that provided light and enabled air circulation without actually being visible from outside: the light came filtered through the green canopy of leaves and the air wasn’t the sweet fresh air of freedom under the vast skies. In a way, Edrahil thought, regardless of its beauty, Nargothrond was a dank dungeon very well befitting outlaws.

He wouldn’t dare say so to the King’s face, for the King grew to love his city with a fierce pride of a craftsman who believed he had succeed in his endeavor. So he smiled with pretended enthusiasm and listened to his lord eagerly describe what else could be improved to make the city more beautiful. He didn’t even have to affect interest about the changes that were meant to make it more defensible or comfortable for the general populace. Edrahil might not love Nargothrond, but he cared about its people and their well-being. The choice had been made long ago on a distant shore and there was no turning back now.

The King grew to love Middle-earth and, having very literally carved out a new life for himself, called Nargothrond his home, but then the King had found for himself a new family among his mother’s sundered kin. For Edrahil this wasn’t coming. His parents and his sister had turned back when they could and dwelled in the sweet golden splendor of the fair Tirion. That is, assuming they were forgiven: he neither had, nor shall ever have any way of knowing that.

But on cold wintry days, when the leaves were gone and the light of the Sun ignited sparks on the snow, he sought out one special place – a room carved into a tall cliff overlooking a hidden vale deep among the hills of Taur-en-Faroth, the King’s music room. Here, the air-slits were almost window-like, and they let in a light that looked almost like the lost radiance of the Trees at their mingling. Here, his back to the slits, his eyes wandering aimlessly over a tapestry of the Valar, a gift from the King’s royal Aunt of Doriath, his fingers plucking harp-strings, for a few short whiles he could almost pretend he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> (Levain) Tad-dail means literally two-legged (animals) and is the name by which the Sindar referred to the Petty Dwarves at least before they “realized” these were fellow mirroanwi (cf. The War of the Jewels, via eldamo.org), here used by Thingol instead of the more appropriate Noegyth Nibin in accordance with the theory that the Sindar were in a more-or-less conscious denial of their crime, supported in it by the abysmal treatment of the Petty Dwarves by their own kin.


End file.
